


Starving

by crystalrequiem



Category: Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood Drinking, Bottom Kuro, Dom/sub Undertones, Fai sucks at emotions, Kurogane is surprisingly okay at them, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Still Vampire Fai, but submissive isn't the same as powerless, lots of porn and lots of feelings, my attempt to escape top/bottom cliches, sort of bloodplay kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-03-08 13:11:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13458948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crystalrequiem/pseuds/crystalrequiem
Summary: The return of his eye should have taken this curse away, so why does he still feel the same, burning thirst?He knows Kurogane would submit to his fangs again, but maybe there's no reason to tell him. If he can find a way to remove his condition on his own, no one need be the wiser.(In which Kurogane fights to convince Fai that vampirism suits him just fine.)





	Starving

**Author's Note:**

> Rather heavily inspired by other works on this site, especially from Cloverfield and Pokechan.  
> https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloverfield/pseuds/cloverfield  
> https://archiveofourown.org/users/PokeChan/pseuds/PokeChan
> 
> :3 You gave me a brain-worm, darlings. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy; just meant to be a oneshot, but I would love to hear your opinions. I don't write NSFW very often.

* * *

 

In the heady rush of bittersweet euphoria after their battle finally, _finally_ comes to an end, he doesn’t notice.

It’s only after they’ve both fought their way back to consciousness, after the castle’s healers have looked them over more times than he can count, after the children have fallen asleep and the world is quiet and still, that he has cause to realize. Kurogane, flooded with the thrill of victory, the sheer pleasure of making it through another day alive, pulls him close in the dead of night and kisses him dizzy. Fai moves with him, moves against him. For once in his life, he’s not afraid to keep this one, perfect thing for himself, and the lack of fear terrifies him.

He doesn’t know what runs through Kurogane’s head when the man threads his fingers into the tangle of sweat-slicked hair at Fai’s temple. But the way those red eyes stare deep into his own sets his heart _twisting_ in his chest. 

Kurogane heaves a shuddering breath and trails his hand upwards, lingering on the bandage plastered at Fai’s brow. He edges down, traces the shape of an eye no longer missing. That touch against Fai’s eyelid is so _delicate_ , he can’t—  This kind of gentle _hurts_ in a way he can’t comprehend. He can hardly stand it. He can’t bear for it to ever stop.

They might have stayed like that, pure and beautiful, wordless and _everything_ , but Kurogane tries to lean too far on an arm he doesn’t have. He catches himself with over-used stomach muscles and an inelegant, painful twist. Fai long ago learned to read the signals of _pain_ in the hard lines of Kurogane’s face. It’s all in the tightness of his eyes, the furrow of his brow—

The smell of blood, maddening, enticing, crimson and newly dripping from his bandaged shoulder.

Cold washes through him, sudden and intense. There’s magic, alive at his fingertips whenever he cares to reach for it. He carries an eye that shouldn’t exist, impossible, still sightless, but _there_. And yet. And yet—

The monster still lives in his skin, alert to the allure of Kurogane’s weeping shoulder.

Fai has only moments, _seconds_ to reconcile the fact before Kurogane notices his reaction. He takes it in, swallows it down. Instinctively, he reaches for a distraction. He has to misdirect the warrior’s attention as quickly as he can, find a way to regroup—to think of some solution. Kurogane shouldn’t be subject to this damnable curse any longer—there has to be a way to break it. He just has to—

“Kuro-koi should take better care of himself,” He intends to tease, but panic lends the words too much honesty. His voice is quiet, but all too loud against the silence. Too intimate, too close. The nickname he’d just used… If he ever had any hope Mokona’s translation might not completely convey his meaning, it dies somewhere between the shock and wonder battling in Kurogane’s expression.

Kurogane exhales through his nose a few times, just to keep up the pretense of annoyance before he leans forward and presses their brows together.

“Idiot Mage, throwing around ridiculous words like that.” He traces the line of Fai’s jaw one last time before stealing another kiss. Fai doesn’t know what it is about the way Kurogane’s mouth moves against his, but every second he feels another tether wind tight around his stupid heart. _I love you too,_ the warrior says, and doesn’t say at all.

Passion gentles to something quiet and beautiful between them, too fragile and new. Conscious or not, they both still feel exhaustion weighing on every limb. It’s only a matter of time before Kurogane drifts to sleep, his fingers pressed tight to the pulse beating in Fai’s wrist.

Fai watches and feels and _aches_ and can’t make himself get up and move away. Kurogane’s shoulder bleeds, sluggishly, slowly healing from this new abuse, tempting him with the _sweetest_ ambrosia and he—

He has to do something about this. He can’t give Kurogane up. He refuses. He has resolved to be that selfish. But… This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. The eye came back. The image—His first son _died_ to return it, but it still hadn’t turned him back. None of this is fair, but especially for Kurogane. He shouldn’t be _expected_ to—

Well. What choices does he have? He could kill himself, of course. Somehow that doesn’t seem like the right solution any longer. But try as he might, he has yet to find another option.

…yet…. Yet is an interesting word. He doesn’t want Kurogane to have to keep sustaining him this way, but if the only other option is death, he supposes there’s nothing else for it. He’ll reveal the truth if it comes to that, but that doesn’t mean he has to do so _immediately,_ does it? He’s denied himself Kurogane’s blood before. He knows the limits of what his vampiric nature can take. He can push that threshold and keep searching for a way out. With any luck, no one will be any the wiser.

He can do that. He has enough strength for that.

Fai brushes a stray strand of dark hair behind Kurogane’s ear and knows that _this_ is worth the struggle.

 

* * *

 

In the first world they come to after Clow, denial is still easy.

Kurogane pulls him to bed nearly every night, open and honest. None of the bitter pall cast over their previous interactions remains. And even if hunger stirs like an itch beneath his skin, the simple feel of Kurogane, real and here and treating him like he _matters_ is the _best_ distraction.

He spends his free moments wracking his thoughts for something, anything at all he can do to avoid drawing Kurogane’s blood again. He thinks he understands why the return of his left eye failed. He’d already given away the magic of his right, so there hadn’t been enough power to burn the vampire taint away.

Honestly, when he thought about it, it was really a small blessing his reversion failed when it did. If he’d transformed back right at that instant, he would have been useless in the battle ahead. He would have had to go through another agonizing process as his body shifted and rearranged—the fact he hadn’t experienced anything like that should have clued them in.

In any case, fortuitous or no, he hadn’t had enough magic to over-power the vampire blood. So, it stood to reason that he had two hopes of losing his parasitic nature. Magic should have burned the weaker blood out as a fever burns illness. So, he needs either more magic, or weaker blood.

He watches Kurogane’s peaceful, sleeping face, thinks of the warmth of his lover’s hands and the gentle look in his eyes when he thinks no one sees. Maybe it’s a little risky, but… it wouldn’t be so dangerous, right? To let the vampire starve _just_ long enough for his magic to overpower it? If he could keep his head, no one would ever have to know.

He resolves to try.

When he wakes up one morning to find his eyes gone amber-gold, he weaves an illusion of blue and prays Syaoran won’t have reason to notice.

 

* * *

 

By the time they make it to Piffle, he’s beginning to struggle.

“Does it bother you?” Kurogane asks, following the path of Fai’s gaze back to the bandaged stump of his missing arm. He thinks he hears a hint of self-consciousness in that tone, much to his chagrin. He usually tries not to linger long on the reminder of his past mistakes, but the blood beneath delicately healing skin runs _so close_ —it reminds him with every beat of Kurogane’s pulse that there’s something he _needs_ just within reach.

Kurogane’s faintly nervous expression tilts towards concern. Oops. He forgot to respond. Kuro is looking at him too closely, his brow wrinkled just the way it does before he takes Fai apart.

He has to say something, so he tells the truth.

“I hate that you lost it on my account.” …maybe too much truth. The lines of Kurogane’s mouth harden as his jaw sets. Fai senses the argument coming like a stormfront rolling in.

“Fai,” his lover admonishes, and the simple sound of his name on those precious lips sends a thrill through him capable of blocking out the thirst. “You’re worth far more than a damn arm.” 

He doesn’t think those words are supposed to hurt so badly, but they do. They twist sweet and poisonous in the cavity of his chest, prodding at the remains of his hope. He can’t stand to believe them, but he knows by now that Kurogane means what he says, has physical proof of it before him.

It’s only that… Fai gave his life for Yuui. Ashura spent his sanity on worry for his sake, and Kurogane himself has already spilled liters of blood beneath his fangs. He’s little more than a wraith made of magic trailing misfortune in his wake. His life comes at such a high price already. Kuro’s arm is a terrifying cherry atop the sacrificial cake. “ _I am no less a monster now than I was before, and if you had any sense at all you would leave me behind. I’m only too selfish to walk away myself,”_ he wants to admit.  

“Worth is relative,” he says instead. Kurogane seems to understand something of what he means. With a wordless growl, the warrior crosses the room. He leans in, threads his callused fingers through the beltloops of Fai’s jeans. His thumb presses insistently into Fai’s hipbone, as if Kurogane means to anchor him.

"I'll have another arm tomorrow," Red fills his senses as Kuroane stares deep into his eyes. His vampire instincts are a cacophonous mantra in his head— _So close. Take, drink, mark him yours. Blood on his skin, and it smells so sweet—_ but the fire Kuro lights in his heart roars louder still. "you, I could never replace." 

Isn’t it madness, how easily Kurogane can say these things and _mean_ them? Fai groans, bows his head and tries to put himself back together.

For a moment, he thinks perhaps he should mention the burning itch in his veins, pressing insistent against his every waking thought, but he doesn’t want to ruin the mood. He can keep going a while longer. And whether Kurogane believes him worthy or not, it would be nice to spare his lover this one, single curse for his sake. He can already feel himself growing weaker—surely any day now his magic will overtake the blood.

“Mage?” Kurogane pulls him from his thoughts with a caress at his cheek. _So worth it_ , his mind echoes, over and over, even louder than the stirrings of his hunger.

“You are far, far too good for me,” he admits, just when the silence has stretched on a beat too long.

Kurogane doesn’t bother to protest. Instead, he turns them both and pins Fai’s form up against the flat, white expanse of wall. The urgent kisses his lover plies him with argue more eloquently than words could.

 

* * *

 

Days stretch and warp until he doesn’t know how long it’s been. He’s flying blind—starting to wonder whether he’ll ever weaken the vampire _enough_ to trigger a change, but still clinging to the chance to try.

He’s nearing the end of his fortitude in more ways than one. Surely, just a little more—just a few more days and the vampire will be weak enough to burn away, just a _little_ longer. He feels too weak and too tired to understand what’s happening around him more often than not, but he isn’t in danger of dying. Not yet. He’ll give in and explain everything if it gets too close, but for now—he can hold on. He _has_ to.

Of course, that conviction is difficult to keep in mind when every step Kuro takes in his direction draws sweet hunger forward in waves, constant as the tide. His magic can hide away the color of his eyes and the shape of his teeth, but it cannot do anything to quell the _constant_ thirst. It’s only a matter of time before his willpower loses out to the _need_ singing in his veins.

He’s spent so many years perfecting his façade that the kids don’t notice his waning attention and frequent confusion. Kurogane does. There’s no way he could miss it—with Fai pushing him away. He _knows_ the man wants to pull the secrets from his lips, but Kurogane seems resigned to waiting. Maybe he senses something important in the desperation barely restrained by Fai’s smiling masks. 

In any case, when Syaoran asks him for help enchanting a gift to send back to the princess, he finds himself exhausted, dizzy, and uncertain where or when he is. The grin he sends Syaoran’s way slips into place easier than anything, but focusing on the kid’s request and actually _understanding_ what he wants takes far more energy than it should.

“I was hoping it could be preserved somehow, so that she can keep it forever,” Fai doesn’t know how poor Syaoran manages to stay standing—he blushes so hard that it seems there shouldn’t be enough blood left to sustain him. Fai takes the simple flower in his fingers and twirls it a few times. It’s this world’s version of a _Sakura_ blossom, Syaoran tells him, but it doesn’t look anything like the ones they’ve seen before.

“Is that all?” he laughs, and his magic wraps around it with the barest hint of a command. It’s such a simple spell, really. Hardly any magic at all to cast, but… in his weakened state, even that _tiny_ exertion sets his vision swimming.

“…Fai...?” Syaoran blinks worriedly back at him once he manages to open his eyes again. Fai tilts his head playfully and throws him off the scent with practiced ease.

“There we go! Just had to make sure the spell was perfect. It’s a special gift for Syaoran’s special person, after all.” Syaoran takes the blossom back with a distant smile and a cherry-red blush.

“Yahoo!~ Mokona can send the flower ahead now, if Syaoran wants! Sakura will be so happy,” Mokona is, as always, a drop of sunshine in their lives and a perfect distraction. Fai might have gotten away with his moment of weakness—could have waited for the best moment and staggered away to collect himself, but—

He’s just about to attempt standing when Kurogane steps back into the tiny home they’ve rented. The warrior’s brow is slick with sweat, hand firmly clenched around the hilt at his side, but no nervous tension threads the muscle of his shoulders. Every part of him conveys alertness, assuredness. The heat of this world drove them all to seek out appropriate clothing as quickly as they could, so Kurogane is a vision of dark skin and the drape of ruby-red silk. However he may protest the word, he is absolutely, inescapably beautiful. Steel and strength and the crimson glint of blood.

Fai is _powerless_ against the sight of him. He cannot shut it off, cannot force himself to turn away. Hunger _burns_ in him, in every sense of the word. He thirsts for the blood of his game to be certain, but he wants everything—everything Kurogane can give.

“Daddy’s home~” Mokona cheers, and launches forward toward the man. Kurogane has either resigned himself to this song and dance, or determined to take his revenge later. He pulls a face of annoyance and grouches an angry response, but threads the words with no real venom.

Lucky for Fai, the simple scene breaks whatever spell has swept him under. It isn’t fair. It isn’t _right_. He can’t—he _won’t_.  Fai wrestles with the beast in his chest and closes his eyes. He just has to keep his distance, keep it controlled for a few more days. Just a few more—

_Kurogane_ fills his senses, heady and overwhelming and Fai loses the thought. His eyes flash open wide to find the man peering down at him just a few scant inches away. It’s only a second—merely a tiny moment of weakness, but… Enchanted by Kurogane, weakened by exhaustion, the illusion cast on his eyes flitters out of reach.

“Idiot,” Kurogane breathes, furious and fond. Syaoran and Mokona watch their exchange in silent confusion nearby. He can’t do this—he has to keep it controlled, starve it out. He can— Kurogane shouldn’t _have_ to keep taking care of him this way. It’s not _right_. He forces the illusion back up on the fumes of his self-control, leaves no evidence save the faintest spark of magic. It doesn’t matter. Kurogane has already seen.

“Hey kid, think you can hold things down for a few hours?” Fai wants to protest—wants to joke his way out of this confrontation, but Kurogane’s hand wraps around his upper arm, and the skin beneath that callused palm is set alight.

_Really, Kuro-rin, I’ll be just fine,_ he means to say, but there are fangs in the way of his tongue, and Kurogane is so close. The blood in his veins sings such a siren song, he—

“Of course! Is—is everything okay, Kurogane?” His swordsman spares Syaoran a fond glance, and that’s not fair. That’s not what he wants. That crimson gaze should be his always, should be—Kurogane tugs him up to his feet, and he falls into the man’s side. His thoughts are a jumble of _need-deny-hungry-can’t-love-won’t-lost_ and it’s all he can do to keep himself from dipping his fangs into that sweet river and drawing the life that binds them together ( _can’t, won’t)._

“…Idiot hasn’t been sleeping.” Kurogane bites when he can’t think of anything less worrisome, and he doesn’t even need to lie. Fai honestly _hasn’t_ been able to sleep with Kuro’s blood singing to him so close. If he tries to escape his own desires at night, the living room is too cold and empty. His dreams slide inevitably toward visions of blood in the snow, and he throws himself back into waking.

Easier, not to sleep. Maybe it will weaken the vampire in him that much sooner.

“Oh! Fai, why didn’t you say? I’m so sorry I asked you to help with—”  Syaoran exclaims at the same moment Mokona crows, “Mokona knows! Daddy will take Mommy to bed!”

Syaoran and Kurogane both turn nearly the exact same shade of red for entirely different reasons. Happy and playful, the manjuu bounces away from the angry ninja as quickly as Mokona can. Syaoran’s expression is flaming bright and embarrassed, but he gives them both a nod, and leaves them be. Kurogane lunges for his tiny tormentor, ready to frighten some sense into the thing, but—

Fai hasn’t been sleeping. Fai’s been trying to starve this part of himself. Fai doesn’t have a whole lot of conscious thought remaining. Getting up in the morning becomes more and more difficult whether he sleeps or not. He doesn’t have much energy left to deny himself. So, when his legs give out and he collapses to the floor, he’s not entirely surprised.

Just… frustrated.

“Shit, mage.” Kurogane curses, sweeping his mechanical arm forward to gather Fai in his arms. Fai can feel that heartbeat—powerful and heady—thrumming from Kurogane’s chest against his skin. He tells himself _no_ over and over again, but it doesn’t help. He _wants, wants, wants_.

Syaoran and Mokona have gone completely silent with worry, but he doesn’t have enough left of himself to gather a smile. Keeping still, fighting against the hunger—that’s all he has left.

“Should I look for a doctor?” Syaoran murmurs, ever considerate. Kurogane doesn’t take his eyes off Fai when he answers,

“We’ll worry about that if he’s not better tomorrow,” and then he _cradles Fai’s head against his neck_ as he rushes them both toward their shared room. What does he think he’s doing—he’s going to ruin it. Fai’s not _strong_ enough to fight against this if he keeps—

“Damn it, Fai. Every time I think maybe you finally get it, you go and pull something like this,” Kurogane hisses, absolutely livid as he kicks their door open. Lucky he doesn’t kick the thing _in_ , honestly. He strikes it with such violence that it bounces _hard_ off the wall and nearly hits them back. Kurogane blocks it with an elbow, doesn’t even notice the resounding crack that echoes through the hall afterward.

However violently he treats the door, when he lays Fai down against the bedding, he’s so careful… Somewhere, past the haze of _want_ , Fai’s heart flutters.

_Sorry, Kuro-wan_ , he thinks, but he doesn’t dare to open his mouth. He knows if he does, the fight ends. His limit looms far too close—Kurogane is too near. His hands shake uncontrollably. A constant stream of _can’t-won’t-please-want you-need you_ threads his every thought and he doesn’t know how to—

“Idiot mage, you need it, so just _take_ already.” He recognizes the fury in Kuro’s words. He feels the man’s disappointment, displeasure—it aches. Real pangs of hurt spear his chest beneath that gaze. He tries to turn away, tries to bury his face in the pillows to escape the tantalizing scent, but Kurogane easily overpowers him in his over-taxed state.

“Just a little longer—just a little more time, I can—” he begs, but his fangs are already visible, and _shit_ Kurogane’s pulse is roaring in his ears—that beautiful neck is bowed for him, so close, he could just—

Utter desperation is the only thing that keeps him from drinking now. He holds himself as tightly as he can manage past his own shivering, bites down hard on the back of his own hand instead of the sweet flesh he wants so _badly_ to taste. His own blood is ash in his mouth. No substitute.

Krogane growls in frustration.

“Fine,” he spits, “you wanna go back to doing things the hard way? We can do that.” He pulls away, and for one, breathless(disappointed)terrified moment, Fai thinks maybe Kurogane might leave the issue alone.

He does not.

He pulls his sword from the scabbard, cuts generously into the wrist of his flesh arm, and lets the blood drip.

That’s all. That’s it. He can’t fight against it any longer. Fai loses track of reality. Kurogane’s blood, hot and sweet, fills his senses so completely he can’t know _anything_ else. Somewhere in the struggle, a single drop touches Fai’s lips, and he is _gone._

Kurogane is the _best_ drug. The finest liquor, the sweetest delicacy. The taste of his life-blood roars roughshod over Fai’s dwindling consciousness and sends him spiraling into this moment, this place. This—just this. Such a heady rush, all the more intense for his long denial. He can’t get enough. The very essence of the one he loves most is a heavy ecstasy against his tongue and he needs, _needs_ more.

Gods, why had he denied himself so long? (He needs to stop) He thought he could starve it out? He thought his magic could end _this_? (This isn’t fair to Kurogane, he needs to—) It’s the blood that pulls the magic back into his veins, puts the blue back in his eyes. It’s the blood that feeds his power, makes him feel alive, ties them together so tight he can't tell where Kurogane ends and he begins. Every draw is a symphony in his head, whispering that he can do anything, _anything_. (Stop, it isn’t right! It isn’t—)

Fai groans as that perfect _red_ dances over his tongue. He might forget himself completely—might fall victim to his own mindless hunger, except… He feels the way Kurogane shudders in his grasp. It only takes one tiny shiver to kick Fai’s restraint back to life. He tumbles clumsily toward self-awareness to the tune of Kurogane’s labored breath and finds his mouth moving of its own accord over abused flesh.

The ninja’s usually tanned skin looks just a shade too pale. Fai thinks through a litany of curses and wills himself to stop drinking. He presses the flat of his tongue against broken skin and tries to lave the wound closed. Kurogane’s blood beats new warmth through his veins, tastes like heaven with each pass of his tongue. Fai longs for more and hates how weak he is to it all at once. 

“Dumbass,” Kurogane growls. Anger still paints his words, but something else lurks behind. Fai pushes his mortification aside long enough to gage the damage. Kuro stares back, eyes half-lidded with lethargy and different hunger all his own. Collapsed among the bedding, slumped against the wall, his breath brushes through Fai’s hair in hot puffs. He watches and feels like _such_ an idiot.

_Stupid, failure, can’t even manage to stave off for long enough to make it count—worried him, worried the kids for nothing—hurt him anyway—not even worth—_

He lets the silence sit for too long. He doesn’t know what to do—what to say. He’s not— “Come on, mage, talk to me. What the hell’s going on in that head of yours?” Kurogane’s arm is an anchor of warmth beneath his fingers, the angry, healing gash of his wrist still calls to Fai’s base instincts, only just sated by blood. He traces it with the tips of his fingers, watches the shudder that rolls through Kurogane in the wake of his touch and feels utterly defeated.

“Sorry,” he chokes.

“Sorry?” Kurogane repeats, his rightful anger very carefully restrained. Fai winces. The voice in his head continues to berate him, unceasing. Kurogane might as well add to it.  “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, just in case you’ve forgotten. _You aren’t allowed to die._ ”

Oh. Oh? Is that why he’s upset?

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Fai sighs, boneless with defeat. So _long_ spent trying to starve the beast away, and now he has to start again.

“You want to start making sense any time soon?” Kurogane grouches. “Why didn’t you tell me this was still a problem?” He _knew_ Kurogane wouldn’t appreciate this. He’d known back when he cooked up this half-baked plan. He’d just really believed he could pull it off. He hadn’t thought—

Kurogane snakes his wrist free from Fai’s grasp and brushes a smear of blood from his chin. The way corded muscle wavers and falls back to Kurogane's chest drives another stake of guilt through his heart.

“The witch said I could have beaten it with the magic returned. It was supposed to free you from this.” Weakened though he may be, Kurogane’s metal arm maneuvres behind his back and makes certain that Fai can’t run away.

“I didn’t expect to be freed when I made that wish.” He murmurs, smooth and unselfconscious as anything. Honestly, the man isn’t _fair_. Doesn’t he realize that’s _why_ he deserves to be free of it?

“You can’t possibly _want_ to keep serving as host to a parasite. I thought, if I could find a way around it—”

“Honestly,” Kurogane chides, “I don’t really mind.” The thought takes far too long to compute. Fai frowns, trying to reconcile the words. He doesn’t mind? How on earth could that be true? Is he just lying for Fai’s sake?

“Look, you don’t have to worry. I think if I starve the vampire long enough, I can—”

“Fai.” Kurogane growls again. He shoots the mage a dry glare before unabashedly taking hold of Fai’s wrist and pressing his fingers to the hard heat of his groin. “I don’t mind.” He doesn’t even have the good grace to look embarrassed. Fai doesn’t have a ready response for _that_. The running commentary of self-derision in his head falls quiet, shocked into silence. “My only regret was that it tethered your life to mine. You should have lived far longer.”

It takes a while for him to remember how to form words again, but he knows there’s an answer for what Kurogane has just muttered aloud. He fights to master his own voice and scoffs.

“Little chance of me living long after you, Kuro-rin. Blood ties or no.” Kurogane frowns, but doesn’t bother to contest the admission. The acid world of Tokyo had rendered it a pointless argument anyway.

Fai knows it’s selfish to pin his existence on a single person. In the quiet dark of Nihon their last night, he had determined he didn’t care. He still doesn’t.

“So, you ‘don’t mind,’ hmm? Who could have thought that Kuro-chi would be into such things.” Teasing is easy, a way to fill the silence. Fai’s head still rings with uncertainty. He doesn’t know whether to give in and let Kurogane convince him that this is okay. Because of course, that’s what the man’s _really_ doing, arousal aside. Neither of them have ever put their own gratification above matters of survival. 

He’s hesitant, tentative despite the easy grin as he wrests control of his hand back from Kurogane’s weakened grip. “I never knew you were such a deviant. What will the children think?” He intends the words as a distraction only, absent-minded. Behind it all, he’s still weighing the shape of things in his head.

He doesn’t know how he expects Kurogane to react. He doesn’t really give it any thought at all. The way Kurogane usually ignores him or flies into a comical whirlwind of annoyance has become as much white noise as his own empty cajoling. But… this is something different, isn’t it? This is an argument without words, Kurogane’s ploy to convince him. So, while he doesn’t expect it, the satisfied smirk of _challenge_ that eases its way across his lover’s expression certainly should not surprise him as much as it does.

“Is it really so hard to believe? Maybe I should explain more clearly.” And just like that, with nothing more than a single misstep in the game of their background noise, Fai is instantly out of his depth. Kurogane looks nearly too tired to keep both eyes open, but the bare _want_ in his face drives the air from Fai’s chest. “I like the sight of you, painted in _my_ colors,” Oh. Oh. Kurogane has decided not to play fair. Fai can only watch, eyes wide as the swordsman lifts his own wounded wrist and draws a new stripe of blood across the pale white of Fai’s cheek.

The smell of it…. Fai’s pupils widen, blue irises flickering gold. Kurogane doesn’t know what he’s playing with. If he doesn’t stop—

“I like the feel of you, strong, hot enough to burn, pressed into me in more ways than most people can imagine.” Ugh. _Fuck_. Kurogane’s never tried this on him before—this kind of _talk_. But then, he’s never had Kurogane this near to exhaustion and still interested. They haven’t been bedmates long enough for him to know _everything_ about his partner. Still, if the man doesn’t stop soon, he’s going to—

“I like that I can drive you mad, just by being near you. I like the way you lose control. You could push me down and _break_ me if you wanted, but you won’t.” He can feel himself shaking, hardly able to believe the words spilling from Kurogane’s lips, just a touch too chalky-pale. “And as much as I will always, always treasure the feeling of you coming to pieces beneath me, I like the thought of doing that for you too. I like that you could _make_ me.”

_Shit._

It’s such a perfect image in his head, something that reaches deep and digs into desires he hadn’t allowed himself to entertain. He’s captured by the words—enthralled. Fai has Kurogane’s wrists pinned above his head against the wall almost before he realizes what he’s doing. The way Kurogane laughs at his expense rings through his every nerve, dark and seductive.

“Kuro-sama is awfully talkative today,” he purrs, and hardly recognizes the sound of his own voice. He doesn’t know what Kurogane thinks he’s trying to pull, but Fai is swept into his thrall, doomed from the very first word. He holds himself unnaturally still, straddling Kurogane’s hips just a few inches too high for any satisfying friction. His head dips heavy and his back bends as he maintains his grasp on his lover.

“Just seemed like the words you needed to hear,” Kurogane murmurs, trying to shrug. He’s so obviously tired—even as he sends a burning smirk Fai’s way, his head lolls against the cage of Fai’s arms. He’s so impossibly strong and vulnerable all at once in that instant—Fai wants nothing more than to _ruin_ him—catch him and keep him safe.

“Ah, empty platitudes then—meaningless words to make me feel better.” Even as he speaks, he knows better than to believe himself. Kurogane has meant every word sincerely since this whole mad thing began—that’s half the power of it. Still, it’s fun to tease. And when Kurogane’s eyes go hard and earnest, tired gaze determined and focused only on Fai and nothing else, he can’t regret it.

“I don’t lie, Mage,” he admonishes, and Fai feels the words down to his bones. He shivers, his grip tightening on Kurogane’s wrists until a thin trail of blood trickles down between his fingers. He’s disturbed the damn wound again. It should probably pose more of a worry than a point of arousal, but he and Kurogane have long raced past the boundaries of sanity. There’s nothing hidden in the way Fai reshuffles his hold to free one hand, so he can lick his bloodied fingers slowly clean. There are no secrets in Kurogane’s expression, too turned on to think, as he watches Fai’s tongue dart from digit to digit.

Lost in the thrill, Kurogane strains to move only to come up against the unbending iron of Fai’s vampire strength. Fai studies with fascination the way his partner shudders, excited by the reality of his restraint. It’s a new kind of magic unfolding before him—hypnotizing.

“What else do you like?” He finds himself asking aloud without thinking, his free hand occupied by the elaborate knot work that holds his prey’s clothing together. Kurogane watches him with eyes half-lidded and lips parted. His tongue darts out to wet them as he fights to find his voice.

“I like the way you can’t look away—the way you forget everything that isn’t me.” Fai’s gaze, now fully gold again with want, flits up to meet the ruby red of Kurogane’s as his fingers free the first knot. Kurogane’s scabbard comes untied easily, and it skids away with a victorious clatter. His fussy swordsman is too far gone to complain at the rough treatment. Fai allows himself to smirk, reveling in the power he’s been handed.

“I never could take my eyes off you, Kuro-koi. Even before all this,” he admits, abandoning his work at Kurogane’s waist to trace the lines of his soft expression, just for a moment or two. Kurogane can do little more than lean into his ministrations, given over to Fai’s whims. It’s maddening. Intoxicating. “What else?” He teases, begs, as he frees the long sash serving as Kurogane’s shirt. He cannot remove it completely without shifting Kurogane’s weight, so he allows it to rest unfolded on either side of them, bunched messy and bright red, like gift wrapping. _So beautiful_ , he thinks, _too pretty to be real_.

“The way—” Kurogane stutters, breath hitching as Fai’s fingers drift further down. “Like the way you forget to be gentle—how desperate I can make you—the way your fingers press, like you can’t stand to be apart— _f-fuck_ , Fai,” He finally manages to shake Kurogane’s sultry cool down to a choked gasp as he wrests the final knot open and lets his hand splay over the bared skin beneath.

“Desperate?” He echoes back, whispering in the shell of Kurogane’s ear. He pauses to kiss at the lobe, letting his teeth graze the skin, just before he winds his fingers around the shape of his lover’s arousal.

“Hm—” the Ninja hums, though the edge of the sound catches on a whine. “So desperate, you don’t realize you’re still dressed,” He calls with a cocky smile. The expression quickly fades back to one of thoughtless bliss as Fai drags his hand up and down again, tight and slow, rolling his wrist at the height of each stroke.

“Do you like me better without them?” Fai cajoles, and only laughs a little when Kurogane hisses, eyes slitted like a cat’s,

“Yesss.”

It strikes him then, how much power Kurogane has over him. Only minutes ago, Fai had been worried out of his mind that he’d broken something irreparably, ruined the thing they shared, betrayed some sacred balance between them. He’d known, beyond a doubt, that he _couldn’t_ keep taking from Kurogane, however freely given. But now—Now Kurogane is begging him to take, and keep taking, so—he will. He’s hopeless when it comes to this one man; he can’t deny Kurogane anything at all—not even his own selfishness.

It makes no sense. It’s the only thing that makes any sense at all. Still, the eternal dance of give and take between them is too confusing to hold in his head for long, so, off the silks go. His own clothes pose far less of a challenge than Kurogane’s, but he needs both hands to undress quickly. He releases Kurogane’s wrists, feels something dark in him uncoil with bliss as the swordsman _holds them there_ , gaze never straying from Fai’s face.

_Need_ shivers through him, trailing the rustle of fabric that cascades off his skin and dips behind his shoulders.  

“Is this what you want?” he asks as he repositions them both, fitting himself into the space between Kurogane’s muscled thighs. The glare Kurogane fixes him with asks whether there was ever any doubt. He finds himself laughing—a little giddy, a little nervous, a little in awe that his partner could ever want him this way. Beautiful, strong Kurogane—far too perfect for a creature like him.

“I like,” Kurogane begins again, and already a glimmer of anticipation threads through Fai’s being. “When you stop thinking so much,” his lover grouches, ruby eyes glimmering with challenge and irritation in turns.

 “Impatient,” he croons, even as he presses their hips flush. The sensation of _Kurogane_ hard and hot against him sends pinpricks of pleasure cascading behind his eyelids, bursting through him like stars, and he can’t help but gasp. It doesn’t matter how many times they do this—he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the feeling.

Eventually, Kurogane forgets himself. One broad palm drifts down to tug Fai’s jaw forward in a kiss. He moves slowly, gentle and intimate as he rolls his hips upwards to meet Fai’s. It’s languid and sweet—makes Fai want to fall under and hand the reigns back over, but—

He finds his focus again somehow between the soft sensation of Kurogane’s lips and the maddening friction of his groin—he reaches up, pinning Kurogane’s wrists back in their place as he fights to dominate. It’s simple really; just the tilt of his chin, the slightest change in angle and he can plunder Kurogane’s mouth as he likes, leave him breathless and wanting with his lips kiss-swollen.

“Forgetting something, Kuro-rin?” He teases, tightening his grip for emphasis and watching the way his lover’s eyes slip shut in hazy satisfaction. It strikes him suddenly that this is really happening—that Kurogane _actually_ wants him this way. It’s a heady rush, one that has him grasping for the flesh of Kurogane’s inner thigh with his free hand, kneading deep into the muscle there as he levers the leg aside.

“Nn-Fai.” Usually so quiet, the swordsman can do nothing but sigh as the new angle changes the way they slide together.

“Losing your grip on words already?” Fai taunts, though his voice catches when Kurogane presses against him _just right_. “You were so talkative before,” he murmurs, close enough to nose and nip at the skin of Kurogane’s neck. His fangs leave a tiny trail of puncture wounds behind, one or two weeping a single bead of blood. All the gods in all the worlds, it’s insane—it’s _unholy_ all the ways he wants this man. He wants to take everything—his blood and his love and the rest of his life at Fai’s side—it’s _madness._ Even crazier, he thinks Kurogane would let him.

They’re going to lose it too quickly, so he eases back and away, smiling at the huff of irritation the move earns him from his partner. He lets the hand at Kurogane’s thigh drift up, just barely brushing the pink, puckered muscle he plans to make his own.  Kurogane shivers and hums, perfect as a dream.

“Do you like this too?” his words don’t belie just how desperate he feels, but his voice does. It winds low and rough from his throat to break in hot puffs of air against the marked skin of Kurogane’s collarbone. He trails patterns over his lover’s thighs with the roughened tips of his scarred fingers, delights far too much in the way Kurogane’s abdomen jumps every time he brushes against the base of that thick cock.

“Like it better if you’d stop playing around,” Kurogane manages to grunt, glaring up at Fai. He punctuates the last word with a shove from behind, one heel digging into Fai’s waist and pushing them back together again. _Damn_. Fai laughs and knows when he’s beaten, tilts his head back up for another bruising kiss as he gathers his wits off the floor.

It isn’t as easy to move his hand between them, but he finds the ring of Kurogane’s opening again without too much trouble. He traces and presses, tries to figure out what he might use to ease the way.  It’s been a very long time since he’s done this to anyone else, and he wonders suddenly whether the same is true for Kurogane.

“Has it been a while?” He wouldn’t want to move too quickly if Kurogane hasn’t taken a lover for too long. But if his swordsman is up to it, well… he doesn’t much feel like going _slow_.

So, it’s a bit of a surprise when Kurogane grumbles, “You’d be the first, idiot.”

It’s such a little thing. It shouldn’t matter at all, but gods, it _does_. Kurogane wants him like this, wants it to be _him_ first, and that strikes him to the bone like _lightning_. The beast in his chest roars with every heartbeat— _mine_.

“Mage?” Kurogane presses, shifting the cant of his hips when the quiet lingers a few moments too many. Fai masters himself with a shuddering inhale.

"Oh," he moans, "How are you so perfect?" _Gods_. Utterly perfect. Far too good for a walking disaster like Fai, but he's learning to be selfish. Kurogane's face regains a little color; his cheeks flush red at the praise and Fai files this fact away for some other time when he remembers how words work. The thought of Kurogane, embarassed, blushing as Fai tells him how _wonderful_ he is.... well. Maybe it's something to look forward to?

For now... Fai already has enough to do. He wastes a few moments more worrying over the best way to acquire lubricant before remembering his own magic. Such a simple spell, he could kick himself for forgetting it—he only has to snap and bind the sound with _will_ for his magic to respond. Patterns of soft blue and white light cascade over his hand, leaving his fingers dripping with oil when they fade.

“Fuck,” he hears Kurogane huff, absent minded. Fai follows the line of his heavy-lidded gaze to the fading blue at his fingertips and feels himself chuckle.

“Ah, something else you like?” He cajoles as he finally, finally kneads and presses and _slides_ one slicked index finger into his lover. Maybe he doesn’t want to go slow, but oh, Kurogane is a hundred thousand times worth it. 

If the intrusion bothers his taciturn partner, he gives no indication.

“Maybe,” Kurogane pants, feigning impudence even as he bites his lower lip and rolls his hips upward to give Fai better access. “I might like your magic,” he reprises, focusing on coherency. “Can feel it buzzing through us both whenever you drink. Probably shouldn’t say how much I like that. Probably—ah—!” Fai takes special satisfaction in the breathless moans he pulls from Kurogane's quivering body when he manages to brush against just the right spot. He tries to memorize the placement, the angle of his thrust and the way he shapes his hand, just to drive them both mad later.

He tries hard _not_ to think about Kurogane's most recent revelation, about the way his lover might look, held tight in the grip of his magic as Fai lets him learn every spell he'd ever dreamed of using in bed. Wouldn't he just be the prettiest thing? All trussed up with nowhere to go, Fai's magic easing him open, pushing into him.

It’s too much—too good and he feels his control slipping further and further away. Fuck, Kurogane’s voice is _doing things_ to his head, giving him ideas that burn through him like fire.

“I only wish you’d told me sooner,” Fai huffs. He’s just this short of rutting into the sheets for relief, so wound tight by everything Kurogane has given him. He slips a second finger inside, feels the shift and pull of Kurogane’s muscles as he acclimates to the intrusion. _Slow_ , Fai reminds himself. It has to be slow.

He wants both hands for this—wants to make it good, make it everything Kurogane ever dreamed of and more. Kurogane wants him, held down, pressed to the wall, power and magic and mad with want.

He’ll have it.

Fai eases his grip on Kurogane’s wrists, doesn’t pause the ministrations of his other hand as he weaves a second spell. Force magic takes his place, pinning Kurogane’s wrists where they are and leaving Fai freer to move for it. His companion _shudders_ as soon as he feels the spell touch skin, eyes glazed when he looks up at the sparks of blue and white straining to keep him still.

“Is this okay?” Fai stops to ask, even when stopping is the _last_ thing he wants. He has to; Kurogane matters to him more than—

“Mage, if you don’t keep moving _right now,_ I’ll—” That’s all the reassurance he needs. He scissors and _crooks_ his fingers, fairly certain he’s hit the right spot when Kurogane’s words cut out with a choked moan. It’s a heady feeling, driving his lover to distraction, working him up with little more than a couple of easy spells and the press of his touch. 

Without the need to hold Kurogane down, he can readjust his weight. Far easier now to lavish kisses, open mouthed, to the tan skin of Kuro’s jaw. To worship the column of that neck, lave the marks he’s made, drive himself mad with the steady pound of _red_ he knows lies just beneath the surface.

“I—you could, you know,” Kurogane babbles, nearly unintelligible. Fai’s presses up and _in_ and he has to fight to speak past the noises of appreciation caught in his throat. “keep telling you I like it when— _fuck,_ that’s—like it when you drink.”

Shit. The vampire does _not_ need to hear that. His fangs, already excited by the smell of his prey’s blood in the air, dig further into flesh before he can stop himself. It’s a war in his head, not to push harder, not to draw deep from the pulse that resounds through his very _soul_. He _wants_ , but he doesn’t need—like it or not, he’s fairly certain Kurogane is hurting for his own blood far more than Fai right now. He pulls himself back from the brink, but only just. His free hand still trails lines of carmine down that hard chest, following the path his mouth marks as he slides _down_.

That stomach, the divots of his hips, the hot seam where thigh and torso meet—Fai worships them all. Kurogane can do nothing but _feel_ beneath him, lips moving in a litany not even Mokona’s spell seems capable of translating.

Fai eases a third digit inside, eyes the prize of his lover’s cock. He’s not quite reckless enough to take it into his mouth with his fangs in the way, but the thought gives him another pretty image to cloud his head. He knows how it would feel—Kurogane writhing and pushed to the edge, helpless under his mouth and his fingers, dizzy with pleasure as Fai drinks him down…

Something for another day, he thinks. The list he’s making in his head keeps getting longer.

He caresses Kurogane’s arousal with the barest of touches, mindful of bringing their fun to an end too soon.

“Fai,” the object of his attention huffs, his head tossed back, Adam’s apple bobbing. Fai’s fingers _twist_ again, reveling in the way he makes his partner _dance._ “It’s enough, I need—want—”

 “Yes,” he sighs, so wound tight with desire he thinks he might be shaking. Kurogane is a gorgeous mess beneath him, makes just the prettiest sound when he pulls his fingers away. Kurogane wanted him desperate, hyper-focused.

He has that.

Fai is clumsy when he tries to apply the last of the lubricant to his dick. He wastes too much on the sheets and insides of Kurogane’s kiss-marked thighs. He doesn’t _care_.

Maybe hasn’t done this in a while, but it’s an old dance and he remembers how to move. The inside of Kurogane’s knee burns a brand against the crook of his elbow, other heel pressing insistently at the small of Fai’s back, and it’s the simplest math in the world to figure out. He worries at first, when he can manage to think past the haze of lust, that the swordsman might not have the flexibility for this position. He needn’t have bothered. As with anything, the two of them fit like they were _made_ for it—so opposite they come back around to belonging together.

The feel of their long slide seems to take Kurogane by surprise. He gasps, open mouthed, head lolling back against the wall with a distant thud. He’s blushing red, face to chest, strung up and pinned and letting Fai _in_ , and he can’t—

“So beautiful.” The words escape him, reverent as he eases further—falls deeper into this perfect, foolish, beloved man. He’ll never understand—he’ll keep wondering his whole life—his partner and his match, but so perfect and so much _better_ than Fai could ever be—How can Kurogane possibly want a wretch like him?

He pushes slowly on and on, until his thighs meet the back of Kurogane’s, until he has Kuro folded nearly in half. It’s a moment he wants to keep in his memory forever—singular, inevitable. Like this, he’s close enough to comb through dark hair, let his grip catch and pull as he claims that perfect mouth. Blood still paints his lips. His lover doesn’t seem to care.

Fai wants to cling to this sensation of utter completion, give Kurogane time to adjust to the host of new sensation he’s letting Fai introduce him to. The insistent pressure of Kurogane’s heel against his spine suggests the man might have other ideas.

Their mouths part with a final, wet smack. Fai recedes, focuses on the lines of Kurogane’s face, searching for any signal of pain. He doesn’t find one.

“ _Move_ , damn you,” Kurogane hisses amidst his gasping breaths and stifled, needy sounds.  That _voice_ — For all that the swordsman has no magic of his own, every word drags Fai further into his spell. He has no choice, _powerless_ but to obey.

It’s like nothing he’s ever imagined when he leans back, feels the way Kurogane’s body tries to fight his retreat. How could it be? How could his dreaming mind ever anticipate the way this feels—the slick glide as he pistons back in, the texture of Kurogane’s hair in his grasp, the way the muscles of Kurogane’s thigh flutter when he moves, whispers of sensation across his bare torso. The heat of their bodies as they move together—the scene they cast, shining with sweat, stained with red— _fuck_. Maybe Fai’s played at something like this before, but those times amount to little more than _pale_ imitations. Nothing has ever been like _this_.

Bodies collide, again and again as Fai builds his pace. The look of challenge in Kurogane’s half-lidded eyes and the mad lust in his veins both drive him to a punishing staccato. Gods it’s _so good_. It’s _too_ good, going to send him careening over the edge first. He can’t have that _._ If only he could remember the path his fingers found before. Fai tries for it, hips rolling to get the angle just right, and—

“Ah—!” he pulls a hoarse shout from Kurogane’s blood-smeared lips. _There_ it is. Easy enough to keep hitting that spot once he’s found the way. His love dissolves into a blissed-out mess beneath him, too lost in sensation to keep pinning Fai with that unyielding gaze. Not a moment too soon—he’s so close to the edge. He can feel the onset of orgasm building in his gut as he drives Kurogane against the wall, merciless—

It seems impossible that, messy as the two of them have been, Fai should be able to smell fresh blood from his game, but he does. It’s the tiniest trickle, smearing across the wall behind Kuro’s shoulder. Kurogane’s new prosthetic may be a wonderous creation, but it can still hurt him when abused.

Fai slows, straining to do so. He tugs at Kurogane’s hip, hand drifting from its death grip on dark hair to the seam at his arm.

“Your shoulder—” he slurs, still stupid with want. Kurogane huffs, spearing him with a look of pure _poison_. He lifts his hips, driving Fai deeper and making them both shudder.

“‘s fine _._ Just—don’t _stop_.” Fai is torn. Kurogane sounds like he might just kill him if they pause, but he never wants to hurt this stubborn, foolish man, so—

He dismisses the spell pinning his lover’s arms still, hears Kurogane’s breath hitch at the second pass of his magic. He is _definitely_ going to exploit the hell out of that some day in the near future, but there’s no time for it now. He maneuvers them both away from the wall, drags Kurogane down with nothing more than the hand on his hip and lays him flat.

“ _Fucking hell—_ your power—your strength—I can’t—” Some devious, twisted part of Fai wants to see how long he can keep Kurogane going like this—pleading, desperate. He’s almost sad to let the possibility slip away, but they’re both wound tighter than a bow string and already dancing on the edge. Even with the minor interruption, neither of them will last long.

“Think you might have mentioned something about that before,” he jibes as he resettles himself between his lover’s thighs. This time, the angle he finds leaves them _both_ moaning.

“Can’t help it. Like this. Like— _love you_.” Kurogane forces the words from his chest, voice wavering obscenely as Fai pounds into him. “Love _every_ part of you.” Madness. Utter madness that he could feel this way. It’s like a fairy tale—like a dream.

Fai loves him too much for words. He wants to give him everything—satisfy every fantasy, every want and need. He keeps one hand at Kurogane’s side for support, sneaks the other between their bodies to circle his shaft.  The sound of ripping fabric barely registers when Kurogane’s prosthetic clenches the sheets too tightly, overwhelmed with sensation.  

Somehow, even mindless with desire Fai keeps himself at bay just long enough. Kurogane comes first, painting ropes of thick white across his abdomen and the cave of Fai’s fist, his body trembling deliciously around Fai’s cock. He rocks into it, fucking through the aftershocks. Gods, he’s so close—maybe too close—maybe he stranded himself here, and he can’t—

He feels Kurogane’s warm fingers touch his face, gentle in just the way that takes him completely apart. “So perfect,” the fool whispers, hushed and reverent, and Fai is _lost_.

It’s something hard and _raw_ that tears through him—uncoils from his center and sends pleasure dancing roughshod over every nerve. He loses track of himself as he bows beneath the feel of it, the force of it. Heady, orgasmic relief all tied and twisted into knots, grief and guilt and fear too bundled up with the thought of love.

Adrenaline and the shuddery vestiges of ecstasy bleed away with each heartbeat, as they always do. Fai is left a sloppy, wrung out mess in the wake.

“Fai?” Kurogane’s voice sounds equally worn, if not moreso. He blinks the suspicious moisture of his eyes away and tries to make sense of reality. Right. He hasn’t left his poor partner in the most comfortable position.

“Sorry,” he murmurs as he eases back onto his heels, allowing Kurogane’s knee to fall to a more natural position. Those lovely features shift into a glower, dark brow furrowing.

“What are you apologizing for?” Kurogane grumbles. Fai’s not sure where to start. He looks away instead, searches out the corner of a sheet he can use. Semen paints his lover’s stomach and thighs in pearlescent, sticky white. Pretty as the sight may be, if they leave it, they’ll regret it.

Kurogane watches him move, blinking heavy and languid as his breath slowly evens out. He seems just on the brink of falling asleep. Still, he catches the way Fai’s touch lingers, long after he’s wiped the mess away. The mage massages every bloody mark his teeth left behind in the mad frenzy of love-making. He doesn’t know how to apologize with words, but he—

“Would you stop worrying? It’s _fine_.” Tanned fingers reach out and tangle with his, yanking him down. Kurogane’s strength is formidable too. Fai follows where he is tugged, too tired to fight. He lets strong arms settle them together, his back pressed to Kurogane’s chest.  “Do I really have to spell it out?” The warrior sighs. He knows better than to lay on his sore shoulder, so he keeps it toward the air instead, lets his prosthetic arm circle around Fai’s body, keeping their hands joined. “I like that part too—being marked by you. Remembering.” Without the veil of lust, Kurogane sounds far less confident. However, he does _not_ sound less sincere.

Fai feels small and weak, too unworthy of the way this man loves him. He’s dead tired, still affected by these last few days spent denying himself, just out of his element _enough_ to keep his masks out of reach.

“I don’t understand,” he whispers, pleads. Kurogane only holds him closer, heavy breath a hot comfort against Fai’s bare neck. “Even if the sex is good, why would you—”

“Fai,” Kurogane admonishes, tired and frustrated and embarrassed. “it’s not just that.”

“What _is_ it then? I can’t make it make sense. I don’t _deserve_ —”

“I like that you’re _alive,_ that I can feel you fighting to _stay that way_ for once, that I don’t have to worry so much about you.” 

Oh.

“I like that there’s at least one tie between us, too inevitable for you to run away from. That I have _one_ way to help you, even when you cut me off from everything else.” Kurogane’s words tumble outward in a rush, too earnest. Now that he’s started, he can’t seem to stop. “Damnit, Fai, whatever it is you think you ‘deserve,’ the thought of life without you, is—” Fai finds himself ridiculously glad for the position Kurogane wrestled them into. He doesn’t think he could take it if he could see the man’s face just now. “I want you _here_ , with me, for the rest of our lives.”

Oh, that’s—

He doesn’t—

Can’t—

He hears the words, loud, echoing endlessly in his thoughts. He catches a glimpse of the way Kurogane loves him all over again—enough to sever his own arm without thought. It’s too perfect for someone like him, too _precious_ , but Kurogane has made his decision all the same.

Fai bites back tears and thinks only _okay. Okay._

“Okay,” he breathes, a tired surrender in noisy silence. The way Kurogane relaxes against him is worth the price of his guilt. Okay, he lets his lover convince him, lets him ease them both into exhausted, over-heated sleep, blood-streaked limbs and messy bedding strewn every which way. They aren’t a pretty sight to be sure. He should get up. He should find dressings for the too-hastily drawn wound on Kurogane’s wrist if nothing else, but Kurogane’s metal arm weighs heavy around him. He settles back against the one who loves him, caught in the gravity of sleep.


End file.
